


slowly

by boltlightning



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Major Spoilers, Post-Game(s), after the game but before advent children, farm life, light on the angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:53:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24343810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boltlightning/pseuds/boltlightning
Summary: After Meteor, life slows down. Cloud and Aerith move to the country.
Relationships: Aerith Gainsborough/Cloud Strife
Comments: 10
Kudos: 103





	slowly

**Author's Note:**

> one of many self-indulgent WIPs for you.
> 
> title from the altogether's excellent single, slowly. [listen here!](https://thealtogether.bandcamp.com/track/slowly-feat-karen-han-2)

The hardest part about starting the flower farm is the name.

Months after Meteor, Reeve grants Aerith a sect of land outside the Midgar ruins, upstream from the tributary that fed into the waterfall by her old home. “It's the least I could do,” he explains, as Aerith stares incredulously at the deed to the land. “All I ask is that you come to visit Edge now and then.”

She and Cloud arrive at the property to find that there is a small home already built by the entrance; it has two stories, big windows, and a balcony off the second floor. Reeve, a civil architect and engineer at heart, had left them his own little mark on the land. Aerith nearly cries at the sight. Cloud moves their luggage in while she calls Reeve immediately to gush her thanks.

As perfect as the home is, the land has much work that needs to be done. Even with Aerith's magic touch, the land surrounding Midgar is dry and dead after decades of abuse. The water nearby makes their jobs easier, but it will be an uphill climb to get the fields growing flora of any kind.

“What do you say, Cloud?” she asks. They sit on the balcony on their first night in their new home to watch the sunset, with Aerith curled up against Cloud's chest. “Up for some farm work?”

He thinks on the question, then says slowly, “I grew up in the mountains. Farming unusable land is in my blood.”

“So you accept the challenge?”

She tilts her head up towards him, playful fire in her eyes. It does him good to see her in good spirits, the weight of the world shed from her shoulders. Cloud kisses her forehead.

“From you? Always.”

Aerith, Cloud, and Cloud's retired racing chocobo Luna make their way into the Midgar ruins to take what plants they can. The ruins, abandoned for months now, are overrun with monsters. Cloud brings his sword to push their way through Sector 5 against the tide of strange beasts.

“Just like old times! A bodyguard’s work is never finished,” Aerith notes, as Cloud wipes dark ichor off the edge of his sword. She kisses his cheek. “I pay you well.”

Cloud blushes, clears his throat, and gestures for her to lead the way.

They scavenge vines of medicinal herbs, sprigs of bushes, leaves and bulbs and seeds of all kinds. Aerith scrutinizes each one with criteria Cloud cannot even begin to parse. He and Luna stand by to carry the cargo as Aerith carefully selects the strongest specimens, the ones most likely to thrive under their care on the new land. The rest are left to reclaim Midgar as their own. 

When it comes to the flowers, Aerith takes a select few plants. Her once-meticulous gardens are wild and overgrown, bleeding into the creek by her home. The Gainsborough home is overrun with vines, and Aerith stops in only to see if her mother had left anything of sentimental value. Only the ratty furniture remains. The flower baskets are still on the front table, so Aerith takes them and shuts the door reluctantly behind her. 

She stares at the front door for a long time. When she turns back to Cloud, her eyes are glassy, but she smiles weakly and says, “Alright. Let’s mosey.”

“I'm never going to live that down, am I?” Cloud sighs.

She pats his cheek. “Never.”

They visit the church before they leave the ruins, but they do not take any flowers. Together, they sit in a pew at the front of the church in silence and consider what this place means to them.

The work on the land begins shortly after. Cloud tills the earth with Luna’s help. Aerith begins rough plots of gardens based on the plants she has, with plans to cultivate and breed more. The Midgar area is rife with monsters as well, so there is security that needs to be upheld. Cloud tills and patrols, Aerith plants and works her magic. 

The work is hard and grueling, so rainy days become recovery days. They take the time off to clean the dirt from under their fingernails and scrub the caked sweat from their skin.

“We don't have a name,” Aerith says on one of these mornings. She braids her freshly-washed hair at the kitchen table. Across from her, Cloud raises an eyebrow. 

“For the farm?”

“Yeah. All this work, and nothing to call it.”

“Hmm.” Cloud raps his fingers on the table. “Something catchy. What about...Shinra 2?”

“Ugh.” Aerith rolls her eyes dramatically, and Cloud takes a sip of coffee to hide his self-satisfied smirk.

They float several ideas, none of them much better. It feels strange to name it after the departed they wished to honor, yet every other option seems superficial. Aerith elects to bench the conversation for another day, perhaps when they actually have customers to appease, and Cloud agrees readily.

* * *

Weeks pass. A small section of land yields to Aerith’s care, and life blooms on the small estate. Vines of jasmine take to the trellis above a small walkway lined with hyacinths. Gysahl greens and pepio plants are kept in the small greenhouse where Luna can’t eat the sprouts before they fully bloom. In an attempt to grow every useful, hardy plant she can think of, Aerith also plants catmint in the greenhouse, and one morning finds a mother cat nesting in the flattened stalks. Her four kittens roll around in the freshly bloomed flowers.

So Aerith and Cloud find themselves with five barn cats and a racing chocobo. They do not explicitly provide care for the cats — they leave milk out when there is extra, and stroke them if the litter comes close enough to say hello — but occasionally Cloud will wake to a cat meowing at their bedroom window, or Aerith will find a kitten butting his head against her chair as she reads on the porch. The cat family takes care of any rat problem they may have in exchange for pets and free range of the farm. Aerith notes sardonically she has met many worse tenants in her life.

Life falls into a routine, and the florist and her partner fall further for each other. Now that the imminent doom is no longer and they are no longer spending every day fighting enemies of humanities, they are allowed to see each other as they truly are. Aerith is vibrant and open; Cloud is thoughtful and steady. They work the fields side by side and keep their wits sharp, exchanging jabs and jokes with their equally quick humor.

Their days are halcyon and their fields turn emerald as summer approaches. If there is a better life to lead than this one, Aerith does not know.

(There are dark days, too, days when it is too much to rise from bed and tend the flora like this is what they’ve done forever. Memories haunt them like cobwebs strung between trees. The scar at Aerith’s back rests between her shoulder blades and exits her diaphragm, the wounds surgical and precise. Cloud’s matching wound from the same blade is jagged; it had entered below his rib cage and exited just left of his spine. The edges are rough where Cloud had widened the wound himself to throw the sword’s wielder to his death. 

The first time Aerith sees his scar, she touches it carefully, as though it will tear open anew. Cloud takes her fingers and kisses them.

“It is a part of me,” he says softly. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“No?”

“Not in the same way.”

Aerith’s hand unconsciously brushes her stomach, where the tear of her scar is. If Sephiroth had succeeded that day—

“Hey,” Cloud interjects, his voice low. “Give it time. You’ll heal. You’re stronger than he ever was.”

“You’re right,” Aerith croaks. She manages a weak smile, which Cloud answers with a kiss to her forehead. “I am. We are.”

But she does not miss the way his hand covers the scar between her shoulder blades when he embraces her.

As Aerith becomes more familiar with Cloud’s body, she finds more scars that magic could not fully erase. Thin white lines scrawl across his chest where enemy blades had drawn blood. Branches of lightning lash up his side where Reno had landed a particularly electrifying hit. Claw marks and bite wounds from every variety of monster that they had fought appear all over. All these things are like a tapestry on his fair skin, invisible to all but touch.

Cloud’s panic attacks and nightmares had never abated. Sephiroth is gone but his presence lurks in the Lifestream, haunting them both, harmless and threatening all in one. Where Cloud once hid his pain, he now finds it easier to seek comfort in her. They have both suffered at Sephiroth’s hands, and he knows she will understand him even when his words fail. Their trust runs deep, and they find solace in their solitude. They learn that they are stronger together. 

_He was stronger than his past,_ she thinks one night, idly tracing his collarbone. Her fingers find a knot in the divet, the only remnant of when he had broken it once on the road. _He was stronger than all of this. We are stronger than all of this._ )

* * *

Months pass. As summer ends, Cloud and Aerith entertain visitors as best as their simple lifestyle can support.

Tifa, Barret, and Marlene visit from Edge. They announce with some delight that they had come here in a _taxi_ that drove on a _highway_ — brand new developments, courtesy of Reeve’s World Regenesis Organization, and exciting for all denizens of the planet. The gaps between the settlements across the continents will finally be closing.

Cid had recently gifted Cloud one of his pet projects for the latter’s birthday: a motorcycle, with compartments for Cloud’s ridiculous swords, and the capacity to be steered with his hips alone. Cloud, who makes supply runs to Edge every now and then, parks it in the stall of their stable next to Luna. Barret lets out a low whistle when he sees it.

“Y’all should deliver,” he suggests. “Fast delivery from one of the owners himself! You can call it the…” Barret pauses, and looks with his brow knit to Aerith. “What d’ya call this place?”

“Nothing yet. We’re open to suggestions,” Aerith says mildly, with a wry smile.

“You didn’t wanna name it after yourselves?”

“Gainsborough isn’t that catchy a name, and Strife kind of gives the wrong impression. No offense, Cloud.”

Cloud, who stands nearby leaning against the wall, just shrugs.

“Well, why not name it after us?” Barret poses dramatically, flexing with one hand braced on his prosthetic. “‘Saviors of the Realm’ Farms, at ya service!”

“Or your kitties,” Marlene quips. The girl stands near her father, holding one of the placid barn cats in her arms, her smile bright enough to light up all of Edge. “Kitty Cat Farms!”

Tifa adds, “Or maybe...your weapons? Buster Farms. I guess that gives the wrong impression, too…”

Aerith laughs and rests a hand on Cloud’s arm. “We’ll take them into advisement,” she relents. While they have enjoyed their time in solitude, Cloud finds that he has missed the camaraderie of being in a party. Barret’s energy, Tifa’s kindness and familiarity, Marlene’s delight...it does him well to be among others important to him.

Aerith is much the same. She flourishes in the company. As they eat dinner at the couple’s crowded, far-too-small dinner table, she practically radiates joy, delighting in the fellowship. Cloud keeps his eyes on her and relishes the sound of conversation, washing over him like a replenishing wave.

“Cloud,” Tifa says politely, when Barret and Aerith step away to get seconds, “there are other people in the room, you know.”

He starts to attention, a stammered response on the tip of his tongue, but Tifa grins and pats his arm.

“It’s cute,” she clarifies. “You’ve come a long way since Nibelheim, Cloud.”

Since Nibelheim. Images of the town flash through his mind — the burning water tower, the stoic Shinra Mansion, the reactor filled with only bad memories — but comes away feeling that he at least had one good thing from that time: Tifa. He nods shortly, and puts a hand over hers where it rests on his arm.

“So have you,” he says. “I’m really glad you visited.”

“Just don’t forget about us here on your picturesque farm,” she says lightly, as the others return to the table. “The new Seventh Heaven will be waiting for your artisan apples to turn into ale.”

Cloud snorts, and takes a small sip of water to hide his blush. “You got it.”

They take Barret’s advice, if not his name. Cloud begins to make deliveries to Edge; he delivers medicinal herbs to the healers at first. Word gets around the cluttered town that the flower girl from Sector 5 has an _entire farm_ now, and soon they get requests for flowers, baskets full, to brighten up the place.

Aerith is delighted to know that residents of Edge still remember her.

“And hey,” she tells him, after a particularly long day of deliveries, “the flower girl’s farm? Is a fine name, even if it’s not necessarily traditional.”

“It works,” Cloud says simply. “And it’s better than what we had.”

* * *

Winter passes. Cold comes, and the barn cats take up their home in the greenhouse again. Cloud and Aerith spend most of the winter months making frequent visits to Kalm, where Aerith worries over her mother’s health and comfort. Cloud had never been Elmyra's favorite person, but he tries his best to stand silently and inoffensively in the corner as Aerith fusses over her. 

On their last visit of the season, a few weeks shy of Aerith's birthday, Elmyra fixes Cloud with a knowing look and a soft nod. _Protect her,_ she says wordlessly. Cloud sees something akin to understanding in her expression. _I will_ , he nods back.

In spring, Reeve visits. Cait Sith is perched on his shoulder, happily vacant and cheerfully familiar. Reeve makes sure the property is meeting all their needs and delivers news from the heart of Edge.

“Geostigma, they call it,” he says. It is the first time either of them have heard the name and the full details of the virus, an infectious rash which reportedly causes dizziness, fatigue, and feverish visions. “We don’t know where it’s coming from, so I’m tackling the water supply in Edge to see if that helps. This process — bringing more water in from the mountains, that is — wouldn’t move this fast if I didn’t think it was life or death.”

Reeve falls silent, considering his own statement. “There’s nothing I can do to help?” Aerith asks quietly. “I can heal. I can ask the Lifestream.”

“We've asked so much of you already with Meteor.”

“It would be my pleasure,” she insists. There is no flaunting tone in her voice, no glib remarks. Aerith's eyes are hard, and Cloud knows she will not persuaded to _not_ help with Geostigma.

Reeve folds his hands and considers. “I came here to talk about the aqueduct,” he says at last, pointedly steering the conversation aside. Cloud sees Aerith’s shoulders tense. “Construction will come close to your side of the river...I suggest you prepare that land early, before you’re blocked off from it during construction.”

“And Geostigma?” she asks again.

Their friend hesitates, then pulls a notepad from his pocket. He scribbles something down and tears the sheet out to hand to her. “This is my WRO office number. Call me later this week and I’ll put you in touch with the committee.”

Aerith’s eyes light up, fiery and fierce. “Cloud and I are here to help. Thank you, Reeve.”

“Thank _you_ , Aerith. Cloud.”

And so they till the fields besides the river next. 

The ground is rocky, the going slow, but they hadn’t really explored this section of the land before. Cloud perches on a low, flat boulder next to the shore, peering into the steady river on a break. Snowmelt has filled the river almost to overflowing.

“See anything interesting?” Aerith stands behind him with her hands on her hips, dirt smudged on her cheek. After all this time, the sight of her still makes Cloud’s heart skip.

“Just you.”

“Oh, shut it.” But she tilts the brim of her sunhat up to shine her glowing smile his way, and he offers his shadow of a smile in return.

He hops down to greet her, but lands on an unsteady rock. Before he can regain his balance, Aerith pushes him with one hand into the bank of the river. He falls backwards, arms outstretched to cause an intentionally huge splash, and Aerith yelps as she is caught in the icy deluge. Cloud ducks his head beneath the surface to avoid the wave Aerith kicks his way in retaliation. Like a serpent he darts out, grabs her around the waist, and pulls her in with him.

They splash water on each other until they are breathless and shaky from laughter. The coldness of the snowmelt is refreshing in the unseasonably warm spring day, a hint of the summer to come. Cloud hauls them both to land, and they collapse in the fresh new grass. They peel off their clothes heaviest with water and lounge, half-dressed, beneath the late afternoon sun to dry. As the sky turns from blue to black, the two heroes reminisce about their journeys. They wonder after their friends, they swap stories, they laugh and they joke and they whittle the hours away.

The stars appear early, bright lights against the darkening sky. Cloud looks to his love; she lies with her hair sprawled around her, and smiles her smile just for him. Impulsively, he sits up and leans over to kiss her, one hand propping him up, the other lifting her chin. It is a painful and awkward angle, but Cloud can smell the sun in her hair and taste the freshwater river sweet on her lips. Her eyes glitter, brighter than any star.

“I think,” Cloud says softly, “ _this_ is my Promised Land.”

“Oh, Cloud.” She kisses him again. “Cloud, my love, my light. I _know_ this is my Promised Land.”

Day slips into night, and it is only when Luna comes _wark_ ing up to them to ask for food that they head back to the house. Like teenagers, they stay tangled up in each other the entire walk home. 

* * *

Summer passes, and life finally catches up to them.

Come fall, Cloud works on an as-needed basis for the WRO, running messages for Reeve across continents. He loves the journeys, though he wishes Aerith could come with. She keeps the farm afloat and makes deliveries herself on Luna. They miss each other greatly.

He spends more time away from the farm than he does on it. Geostigma gets worse, despite Aerith’s efforts to heal the virus with her magic. Calls from their friends become less frequent as they get busier, fighting the virus in what ways they can. Cloud remains terrible at answering his phone and only gets worse as time goes on, especially with all the time he spends on the road.

So when Cloud returns to Edge one day, having been attacked by unfamiliar Sephiroth clones on his way home, Aerith is almost expecting it. Too much had happened while they were isolated here in their little bubble, their Promised Land. It was about time they got pulled back into the world’s problems.

Aerith sets out for the city, closing the door of her lovely home softly behind her. She pats the wood fondly and looks out to her fields, the flower girl’s farm.

“I’ll come back,” she says to the land. “We’ll come back together. Wait for me.”

The fields say nothing, but Aerith swears the breeze picks up to make the plants wave their farewell. And she sets out to meet Cloud for their next world-saving adventure.


End file.
